


The Essence of An Idea

by bellamythology (onemanbellarmy)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 04:37:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7153862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemanbellarmy/pseuds/bellamythology
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Man, it was just like him to make a <em>pros/cons chart</em> on a girl, the nerd.)</p><p>While there wasn’t an actual name listed anywhere, it was plain enough to an insider like Octavia — as it would be to any of their other friends, she suspected — that her brother could only be writing about one person.</p><p>  <em>Ooooh, somebody’s in love.</em></p><p> </p><p>  <strong>Nominated for the 2016 Bellarke Fanfiction Awards: Best Modern AU Drabble!</strong></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Essence of An Idea

**Author's Note:**

> For [Gagan](http://bellarkestrash.tumblr.com).
> 
> "We are visual creatures. When you doodle an image that captures **the essence of an idea** , you not only remember it, but you also help other people understand and act on it..." -Tom Wujec

It was a well-established fact that, while Bellamy took decent notes in class, they were utterly useless to anyone up to and including himself. For one thing, they were always covered in scribbles — attempts to revive half-dead pens, memos to self, ideas he wanted to explore further. For another, he had a habit of tossing them aside carelessly the minute he got back to the apartment, where they joined the haphazard mini-piles littering the floor until one of his roommates tripped on them and exasperatedly deposited them on his desk.

But finals were coming up, so Saturday found the apartment even messier than usual as Bellamy and the friends he’d managed to recruit waded through papers to find the relevant notes.

 

A neatly lettered title caught Murphy’s eye, and he bent down to scoop up a worn notebook. He flipped idly through the pages, pausing at one with especially note-dense margins. As he skimmed the lines taken down in Bellamy’s note-taking scrawl — usually his handwriting was artfully messy, almost elegantly so, but he chose speed over legibility during lectures — Murphy resisted the urge to laugh.

 _Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?_ was crossed out, with an arrow drawn to _No, but I scraped my knee crawling up from hell_ scribbled underneath.

Murphy recalled that particular response. In fact, he had witnessed the entirety of that particular interaction: Bellamy leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, trying to seem cool, while Clarke dug around in the refrigerator, good-naturedly firing one-liners at him over her shoulder.

Since Bellamy looked about ready to tear his hair out in frustration — and not entirely over his failure to keep his lecture notes organized — Murphy opted not to wave the notebook around, instead slipping it uncharacteristically discreetly into his friend’s hand.

He did, however, hold onto the page that had caught his attention. One day, when Bellamy was less stressed, they could look back on this and laugh — and Murphy was willing to bet that Emori hadn’t heard all of these yet.

 

“What are we looking for, again?” Octavia asked without looking up from the pile she was sifting through.

“Psych,” Clarke said after a minute, since Bellamy was busily turning in a slow circle as though hopping the papers in question would jump up of their own accord.

Octavia grinned as she dusted off a thick packet of Powerpoint printouts. She didn’t understand or care about the chemistry diagrams and formulas, but the charts and lists in the margins were _fascinating._ There was one in particular that made her eyes widen gleefully.

_Pros:_

\- Intelligent: helped tutor O; actually understands my academic rants

\- Considerate listener: there for me during the breakup with She Who Shall Not Be Named

\- Not too girly: ready to go out with just five minutes’ notice

\- Gets along with O

_Cons:_

\- Argumentative: sometimes a guy just wants his girl to agree with him

\- Violent: Summer Incident of ’08 (though to be fair, she was provoked)

\- Sloppy drunk: needs looking after (but willing to do the same for others)

\- Lots of friends: how much she needs me disproportionate to how much I need her (?)

and so on and so forth.

(Man, it was just like him to make a _pros/cons chart_ on a girl, the nerd.)

While there wasn’t an actual name listed anywhere, it was plain enough to an insider like Octavia — as it would be to any of their other friends, she suspected — that her brother could only be writing about one person.

_Ooooh, somebody’s in love._

 

As she methodically restacked the papers on Bellamy’s desk into more logical piles — thoroughness in everything being her motto — Clarke noticed various members of their little gathering clustering up in smaller groups, chattering excitedly as they passed around several sheets of paper. Some were torn out of notebooks, others detached from packets, and still others were looseleaf binder paper; but there had to be some common factor, Clarke thought, something that made them stand out among all the papers Bellamy went through during the semester.

She was just about to give in to her curiosity and ask what they were up to when her sorting uncovered a paper-clipped stack. Was that —?

After pulling it out for a better look, she smirked. Bellamy had gone full stereotypical teenage girl on his Lit readings, with little doodled crowns — the Bellamy Blake version of cartoon hearts — and the initials CG.

The grin abruptly dropped off her face as she took in this last detail. She knew for a fact that none of Bellamy’s previous hookups bore those initials, nor did any of the other Classics majors. (Which was strange if you thought about, since they weren’t all that special, but, well.)

That left one person.

A shadow fell across the top page. When she looked up, Bellamy was grinning at her. “Find anything good, princess?”

She blinked and shoved the pages at him automatically. “Young Adult Lit. And some information I’m not quite sure how to process — it’s not relevant to your finals, as far as I know, but that’s about all I got.”

Confused, he glanced down to where her finger was tracing over a doodled tiara. “Oh, that’s — um, I can explain?”

Her only response was to lift an eyebrow.

“I was, well, recently I — damn it, this is coming out all wrong.” Bellamy tugged at his already messy curls, sending them into further disarray. “I — crap.”

Clarke couldn’t help the soft giggle that escaped. Here was silvertongued Bellamy Blake, equipped with unnatural charm despite being king of nerds, and he was flustered and tongue-tied in front of her — forever the girl next door, the one he’d known forever. “Been daydreaming about me during class?”

His gaze darted to the books on the floor, the CDs lining the walls, the spots on the ceiling — anywhere but at her.

“Wait.” Her hand brushed his as she took back the notes and continued, softer, “Really?”

Bellamy shrugged jerkily, utterly failing to affect nonchalance. “You’re holding the evidence right now.”

Her gaze dropped back to the drawings, and she held it there as long as she could. When she could no longer resist darting an upward glance, she was taken aback by how _solid_ he seemed — built and muscle-y, sure, but also just there whenever she needed him to be, sometimes even before she knew that his presence would help. “So, um, did you maybe want to —?”

In all honesty, she’d had no idea how that question was supposed to end. Good thing Bellamy had a good enough imagination to fill in the blanks himself.

Their friends were whooping and applauding, but it was like the oblivious couple didn't realize their existence in this moment, their moment.

 

Sappy as it sounded, Bellamy never wanted to separate from Clarke, but finals were still rapidly approaching.

As a compromise, they’d taken to studying together. Sometimes this meant testing each other, but they’d quickly discovered that they focused much better reviewing separately in the same room — actual interaction was rather too much of a good thing for them to really learn their class material.

At the moment he had his head in her lap, taking a regularly scheduled break between fifty-minute cram periods. She ran her fingers through his hair while reviewing her Latin notes.

He opened his eyes, opening his mouth to say something — and froze when he noticed the sketches staring him in the face.

Literally. He recognized those eyes, though he had never looked so affectionately at the mirror. Even looking at his own reflection, he was more guarded than this; there were only a handful of people he really trusted enough to allow even his gaze to soften this much.

Now that he was properly looking at her papers, he could see all sorts of _interesting_ drawings — a pair of hands with scars that matched his exactly, a tiara just like the one he’d given Clarke for her sweet sixteen before pulling out the paint case he’d saved up months for, a tall glass of what might have been a milkshake of the kind they used to go out for after field hockey games.

Grinning, he closed his eyes again and nuzzled her stomach.

The corner of her mouth quirked up in a smile even as she refocused on her notes.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to [me](http://bellamythology.tumblr.com) on Tumblr!


End file.
